


Whisper's Call

by LawlieLycan



Series: The Tall Tales of Briggsy Golde [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Based on a Dungeons & Dragons Game, Descent into Avernus, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hell, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No Dungeons & Dragons Knowledge Required, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Abuse, Vedalken
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawlieLycan/pseuds/LawlieLycan
Summary: A late night visit from the man cloaked in secrets and shadow sends Briggsy back in time.  Forced to relive the most traumatic, sinful day of her life, she has some choices to make and a duty to fulfill to her crew.*More info in series summary!
Series: The Tall Tales of Briggsy Golde [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700392
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Whisper's Call

**Author's Note:**

> This is all from an intense side session I had with my awesome Saturday night DM. 
> 
> The contents of this session may trigger those sensitive to abuse, rape, and general trauma.
> 
> Continue at your own risk.

Deep within the hellscape of Avernus, the party steals what little well-earned respite they can. For mortals, there is no real comfort to be found. Whiskey tastes as if you’ve spewed bile and swallowed it back, as does the water and ale. Food retains texture yet only gives the flavor of ash and soot. The dry heat constantly bears down on them, and the winds give little more than a pattering of dust or sand. The cacophony of Avernus’ eternal blood war is ever present, steel striking steel like the dirge of a church bell and the ringing of a clock tower contending to be heard. Having just bested the warlord Bitterbreath, his mob of hobgoblins, and an enormous necrotic centipede, the group has left the scene and parked their Demon Grinder and Tormentor vehicles side by side. Locking them for the night, they each allow exhaustion to whisk them into an effortless, deep slumber. 

* * *

A gentle caress against her forehead stirs Briggsy to consciousness as she reaches up, tenderly grasping the hand that brushed the few unruly locks from her face. She blinks away the haze of a disturbed rest, looking up to find a familiar but unwelcome face. Her tired eyes wander over his features briefly; the splash of graying hair below his temples, the slight curl of his mustache gracing thick, masculine lips. The rugged, grizzled beard gracing his jaw with a slightly longer goatee, and distinct, sharp brows with permanent lines between them. She settles longer on the unmistakable creases gracing the corners of his deep-set, handsomely blue green eyes. 

Briggsy shifts nervously, quickly scanning the rest of the room. To her left, Shade is sleeping soundly and untouched. On her right, Folly is passed out in her chair with another of this same man looming over her in a similar manner. The boys, Wynn and Rillion, cross her mind. They were sleeping in the other vehicle, and now may possibly be dealing with their own shade of him. She curses inwardly, anxiety swelling within her and stares straight into his eyes, prompting him to grace her with a fond smile. 

“What are you doing here, Whisper?” she murmurs. She tightens her grip slightly, not letting go as he crouches very closely, his leather trench coat sweeping the ground.

“I’m here to learn a little more about you,” he says in his deep and husky tone. The faintly metallic, heady notes of sweetly spicy, warm cinnamon permeates the air as he speaks. He doesn’t give her any time to respond nor call out to her companions. Turning his palm to hers, his hand glows with an arcane heat and Briggsy’s senses dissipate as she is plunged into darkness.

* * *

Inhale, exhale. Repeat. Inhale, exhale. Repeat. A futile effort to keep grounded as she begins to regain her senses. The long forgotten combination of salt water, tobacco, cinnamon, rum, and the musk of a lover's bed waft around her, slowly dredging out repressed memories of a time long gone. She hears the comforting sound of the waves lapping at the hull, the creaking and groaning of the timbers being pushed and pulled by the briny sea, and the rippling of bundled sails begging to be unfurled. As she becomes more aware of her surroundings, the warmth of a body next to her and the faint breathing pattern of sleep cause her to tense in panic. She lies still for a time, her fists balled tightly against her chest, legs curled up and ankles crossed. Fear that was building up previously was now reaching an all time high that she hasn’t felt in a century. 

She stews as her fear blends with fury, recalling Whisper’s last words to her. She still remembers everything. Her past, her crew, the deaths of each man, bestowing her ship to her protege, landlocking herself in Waterdeep, her time raising dozens of little street rats in the brothel she guarded, and _Whisper._ The man who watches her from the shadows. He claims that she is special, and had affectionately referred to her as his “little Mariposa.” She was warned he was dangerous, but she did not comprehend just how terrifying he truly was.

Everything feels undeniably real. The familiar smells, the sensation of the blanket over her, the humidity. Briggsy lets out a slow, shaky exhale, and brings her hands up to look at them. They’re still somewhat calloused, but barely. All the scars she’d earned, her battles she had fought, each of them gone. She brings a hand to her face, and the ravages of time are nowhere to be found. Her skin is flawless; the gash-like scar she wore like a trophy is nonexistent, the bumps of her favored tattoos not yet present. Regardless of whether it was time travel or illusion, it is thorough.

_‘It seems I am cursed to relive this day… Damnaigh sé,’_ she fumes. She musters up the courage to leave the bed, slipping out from the covers. Her frustration causes her to be rougher than she’d like with the blanket, and a hand reaches out to gently hold her wrist. 

  
“Where ya goin’ love?” the man breathes out huskily, his accented voice thick with sleep. He lazily traces circles over her skin with his thumb and she twists toward the invader. Her ex-captain, Stephen Bonnet. He had bought her from a slaver as a child, promising her all the best adventures and pretty things she could imagine. All she had to do was _behave_. The tinge of bile creeps into her mouth, but she swallows it back. She glares at him as she takes in his appearance, hardly having forgotten an inch. Every lock of dirty blonde hair, every curve of his brawny form, each scar and the story behind them, and that necklace. The tiny, silver chained decanter that he poured from every night for her, like a sedative. She huffs and tries to put on her best facade.

  
“Thought I’d get a start on the day,” she mutters. He grumbles and lets her hand slip out of his. She heads for the washing bowl in the corner to scrub her face, then runs her fingers through her hair, untangling it with her dampened fingers. She smooths out her nightclothes and cracks the door open just enough for her to slip out. Gently closing the door behind her, she looks out across the deck. A couple of the men are sitting on the bow, but they don’t notice her as she inches out onto the main deck, taking in each detail she has sorely missed.

Her beloved ship, the Magpie’s Wing, rocks gently with the waves. The recurrent sways lull the crew as they sleep below. Her beautiful masts stand as proudly as the day Briggsy bestowed it on her protege. The reflections on the cannons, regularly polished brighter than an aristocrats silverware. The billowing sails tucked neatly away for the night, the ropes straining and swaying with the gentle winds. Briggsy revels in the sight of her draped in the pale light just before dawn, the true beauty of the Magpie’s Wing unmatched by any other vessel.

Briggsy’s sea legs remain a steadfast trait, as if being landlocked for 50 years hadn’t taken its toll. As she makes her way across to the companionway, she takes a deep inhale of the salty air before heading below deck, drinking in the small comfort it offers her. She remembers every creaking board, each finicky nail, avoiding them skillfully as she quietly makes her way down into the hull. She creeps past her slumbering crew a little slower, if only to see each of their faces at rest one last time.

She rests for a moment after slipping into her cabin with her back against the door, allowing the bittersweet nostalgia to overtake her. Her men had been lost to her for decades, some for nearly a century, even. Seeing each of their faces blissfully asleep is like an unintentional gift, a miracle and a curse from the gods. Tears threaten to fall as she swallows tightly, her heart aching for them and for the days gone by. She slinks to her trunk, pulling out her leathers and her sword. Briggsy places her armor on the cot in the order she equips it, laying the sword at the edge, then strips down and changes into fresher underclothes. 

Unbuckling each section of armor, Briggsy removes the padding and flips it over and back to check for signs of tearing. She inspects each piece in order, slowly reconstructing her armor directly on herself. Each movement she takes is slow and deliberate, looking as though she is preparing for war. She treats the leather with the same respect and care as a paladin would their plate. After attaching her last arm brace she straps the sword to her left thigh where her rapier usually sits, and moves to her vanity.

Her fingers deftly pluck and pull at her hair, effortlessly weaving it into a long, silvery dutch braid as a precaution. If her hair gets pulled like this, the pain will be far duller than a small patch. Scoffing at the reflection of her youth in the small round of polished silver on the back of the vanity, she rips it off and tosses it into the open trunk. She picks up her discarded nightclothes and drops it in on top before kicking it closed with a swift thud to the side. She thinks about Whisper in annoyance, and mumbles out loud to herself.

“Whisper, what the fuck are you up to?” she asks, disgruntled while she tugs and pulls at the leathers, making sure they’re snug.

“I just want to see," he croons, crystal clear inside her head. She staggers back in surprise, not having been prepared for an answer. "I want to see what you’d do, what you’d do differently," he says, the goading purr of his voice sending a chill down her spine.

“You expect me to… do this differently, or the same? You expect me to relive this all over again?” she asks, her voice quivering slightly. She waits a few moments for a response, but does not get one. Heaving a sigh, she stares at the door anxiously. “At least I can thank you for not making me relive the night,” she says, reaching for the handle. She brushes off the rich chuckle he gave and wrenches the door open.

  
  


* * *

On her way to the mess hall, she notes that the crew has already gotten up and vacated the sleeping area. Cots cleared of the center walkway, neatly folded under the hanging hammocks. Briggsy wistfully lets her hand wander along the crates, ropes, and hanging fabrics along the way. She could recall what was in each crate at a glance; their various smuggled teas, herbs, spices, and exotic silks, bundled neatly with care. Each hammock she passes, she’d be willing to bet some hefty coin whether she could name whose it was. It leaves her with a powerful yearning for the sea she had not quite felt in a few decades. 

In the time it took to prepare herself for the arduous day ahead, the halfling crew chef, Bogg, already had slop going out. There is no line out the door that she can see thankfully, the one day it would be wise to arrive last. As much as she longs for the company of her family of the heart, she would not be able to keep her composure. Hesitating in the shadows next to the open door, she hears some bellyaching about a lack of flavor and a loud clang of a pot.

“Arrrr, get yer arse outta here! Don’t complain about the food. Ye’d rather get scurvy, ye piece of shite?! Go on,” Bogg bellows, his gruff, booming voice echoing through the hull. Briggsy lets out a chuckle and steps out silently, slinking into the room. Looking around the mess hall, she sees each and every beloved crew member. Their usual liveliness she was used to is drained, a cloud of solemn sorrow filling the rafters. Each one looks exactly as they were on this very same day, not a detail out of place. Druil, Maebh, Feng, and a few others meet her eyes and give her a brief nod, the rest either don’t notice her or are too afraid to look up. She relishes each moment that she can afford.

She whisks a bowl and spoon from the piles on the counter and wordlessly approaches Bogg, holding it at an appropriate level. She offers him a soft, indulgent smile and he responds in kind, gently ladling her food into the bowl. His softness quickly fades with a more serious look in his eye as he gives her the nod. Turning away with her bowl clutched to her chest, she bites the inside of her cheeks hard. She prays to heavens above and hells below, pledging her reverence to the sea that she may hold steadfast in her composure and make it through this trial. She cannot afford to make any large mistakes. 

All eyes are on her as she makes her way to a table to sit alone, not meeting any ones gaze. She shovels a spoonful of warm slop into her mouth and rolls it over her tongue, reminiscing the days she took for granted. Each mouthful takes forever to chew through, the foreboding atmosphere making it difficult to swallow. The silence hardly lasts long however, the familiar cadence of Bonnet’s commanding voice piercing her ears from the door frame of the mess hall.

“What’re ye doin’ now lads, sittin’ there all gloomy-like? This is a good day! We’re gonna be makin’ ourselves a lot o’ cash!” he exclaims jovially, sauntering through the mess hall. Briggsy doesn’t look up, her memories of this moment burning brighter than any other has thus far. She can see each step he takes, each board that his feet touch, as well as the tweaky smirk on his lips and the devil in his eyes. The way he’d haphazardly strapped his armor on with one of the buckles on his side loose. How he arrogantly picks up his bowl and tosses it at Bogg instead of holding it himself. The men let out some loose grumbles of 'aye's and 'yes captain's, but otherwise keep to their bowls. It seems to be enough to appease him, but he still carries on just the same as he did in the past.

“That’s right!” he practically skips a step in his excitement. “Those children are goin’ to sell for a mighty penny. Oh, a damn good haul that we got laddies! This raid was a glorious one!” he crows, and the men rouse themselves, trying to avoid his attention. Everyone in the room but Bonnet feels the thick tension fueled by hatred and despair, all consuming, like a viscous ooze of the blackest night. The entire crew is haunted by the knowledge that they have committed a great sin a few nights past. 

Bonnet wouldn't accept that his target had moved on, and that he'd been too slow. The outpost he intended to raid had all but vanished, and he was furious. He decided to take it out on what his target abandoned, and ordered the crew to rain down upon the shore. An entire village of men and women left undefended lay dead, their children stuffed in the brig of the ship before we had set sail. Most of the crew may be hardened criminals with wanted posters in every major city, but even they had morals. Not a single soul on the Magpie’s Wing was willing to sell these children. Not a single soul on the Magpie’s Wing had respect or faith for Stephen Bonnet as their captain. Not a single soul on the Magpie’s Wing would let him see another day. 

More of Briggsy’s memories flood her mind as Bonnet takes his bowl and heads to her table, getting settled and tucking in to his meal. They had been planning for months to drug him and leave him behind at the next port, now that their a thaisce, Briggsy, was ready. Bonnet had decided to take on a slave, bringing Briggsy aboard as a wee bairn. She looked to be three or four span at most. A couple of her crew mates had told her it took some time before they all warmed up to the idea, considering how young she was. The captain insisted it would be better to train her from a young age, and the crew could seize their chance to experience some of that landlubber life by raising a young one. Whether it was one by one, or all at once, each of the crew mates had come to care for her as if she were a daughter, and the pride of their ship. Their daughter of the sea.

She was an exceptional learner; working knowledge of the ship, the winds and the stars flowed through her like a tidal current. Her combat skills developed like a raging tempest; she started with a very slow, arduous build-up like the calm before the storm, until the thunder rolled and lightning struck. They augmented her strengths, trained her weaknesses, and mended her sores. Not a single member of the crew would lay an unbidden hand on her, sooner casting the hand off to the sharks. All except the Captain. As soon as she began showing signs of becoming a young lady, his treatment of her changed. The crew was not wise to it in the beginning, apart from one.

The first mate, a wise old salt, the rugged dwarven man by the name Bjarke. He discovered Briggsy curled up in a corner not quite having made it to her quarters, bloodied and ragged, before waking hours. He carried her to the small cabin that was afforded to her. He tended to her the best he could, sang her songs to ease her discomfort, and told the crew she fell ill with women’s sickness while he kept her in her room. He didn’t have to ask any questions, nor did he speak a word to anyone else. 

As she recovered from the physical trauma and rejoined the crew, he began training her in combat more fiercely, pushing her endurance to the limits. It was one of the only things she responded well to for a time, and once she got her footing, she became as unrelenting as the crashing of waves upon the deck. He could only defend her so much, and this was the best way he could ensure her safety. 

Bjarke was not all work and no play though. He was always the first to rouse the crew into a hearty shanty, bolstering spirits and instilling pride in the men. He would regale the patrons of the inns the crew stayed in with tall tales and songs at every port, keeping a good reputation with the common folk. Each tale was magnificent and adventurous, his songs like a heart-wrenching siren’s song for the ladies, except one. One was just for Briggsy, one he sang after the first time the Captain had his way with her, and that he would sing the first night at every port. 

  
  


_They say she was born_

_from the sea._

_She was made from_

_no man_

_and she never_

_had a mother._

_You can see it;_

_her hair is like waves_

_crashing on the rocks;_

_her skin is like the wings_

_of a bird slicing_

_through the water;_

_she is more beautiful_

_than any maiden_

_adorning the bow;_

_and when she’s angry_

_her eyes are like the sky_

_that melts into the sea._

_They say she was born_

_from the sea._

_And she’s just as lonely_

_and just as willing_

_to swallow the world.¹_

  
  


The box that Briggsy kept her traumas neatly tucked away in is slowly unpacked, Bjarke's nearly forgotten baritone aria acts as a soundtrack to the unrelenting wave of memories. The words sting as she recites it in her mind once more, with all her feelings rising again from past and present. The fear of leading her crew astray, of failing them as Bonnet did. The tiny sprout of fear that she may not get her companions, friends, and the whole of Waterdeep out of Avernus. The uncertainty of whether Whisper will release her from whatever it is he has done to her.

She glances to the adjacent table where Bjarke is, her conviction slowly returning to her. It was the right call to remove the man Bonnet had become from the world, and she will do so again. She will not live to see a day where that man walks free in the Prime Material. There is no other path she can take in either conscious, good or bad. She shakes her head, somewhat betraying her thoughts. Bonnet takes notice, moving to rub his foot against hers under the table. 

“Oh, my little lovely. That was a wonderful night last night, dearest.” He takes a heaping spoonful of slop and swallows, ogling her. “Y’know I think I might give ya a rest tomorrow, maybe tonight too. We’ve been goin’ at it, eh?” He winks and returns to his bowl, watching her vacant expression shift into a cold, hooded glare. “Now don’t give me that look, the sounds you were making last night indicated you were reeaally happy,” he admonishes, a veiled threat beneath the playful jab. She glances at the trinket around his neck and rolls her eyes, giving him a forced empathetic huff. She allows him to finish his meal while she mulls over her thoughts.

Briggsy’s captaincy is meant to begin today, the day of her greatest sin. Their destination is only a half day’s travel; far enough that there should be no witnesses, but close enough that she and the crew will be able to reach port by nightfall after swabbing the deck thoroughly. This time, his death will come before he strikes her. The sails will not unfurl, and the anchor will not be weighed until he is removed. The crew spoke nary a word after the raid, yet she is certain they will understand her actions and pick up on her cues. 

Steeling her nerves for what is about to come, she watches the man- no, the monster, before her. Bonnet drops his spoon and slams his hands down onto the table with a resounding thud to pull himself off the bench. He stretches, reaching the knee of the ship, then dramatically lets his arms drop. He claps himself on the belly and lets out a loud holler. Briggsy sits motionless during his display, 

“Ho, that was some good food! It’s gonna be a good day laddies, now get yer asses out ta work!” he exclaims. He turns and starts out the door, expecting the crew to haul ass behind him. He is met only by the sounds of the creaking timber and the splashing waves. Noticing the lack of hustle, he exasperatedly turns back around and storms into the room.

“Now what is this about? Get up, it’s time to make money lads,” he chides. He looks around the room, noticing everyone is staring in one direction and follows their gaze. All eyes are on Briggsy, sitting with her back straight and her chin held high. The anticipation is invigorating, her arms becoming spattered with goosebumps. She stays still in quiet defiance, waiting. Breathing. Focusing.

“Oy, get up off your asses now, before I make you, eh? And why is everyone lookin’ at you?” he glares at Briggsy in askance. She bristles at his tone, and inhales deeply.

“You won’t be making anyone do anything,” she projects coolly. Her voice lacks the accent she once had, having spent decades in Waterdeep, but thankfully it goes unnoticed.

“An’ what is that supposed to mean?” he growls, approaching her with malice pouring out of him. Bjarke and Druil, seated at the table adjacent to hers, both get up quietly to stand behind Bonnet. “You talkin’ back to me now again, eh? Maybe my dick wasn’t deep enough in your mouth last night, scrub out a little o’ that defiance,” he sneers, looming over her. Briggsy grunts in disgust, and turns her head to him.

“As if your dick could do that. You need your little potion to have anyone make noise for you,” she snaps, her eyes flitting to his necklace before glowering at him. His eyes go wide as she lithely swings out of her seat and hops in front of him. 

“The fuck’d you say-” he stomps forward and the men behind him restrain his arms. “The fuck is this?! Let go of me, let go of me _now,_ laddies or I will make you regret this! _”_

“How will _you_ make us regret this?” she asks with genuine interest, a question she never got to ask previously. He looks between her and the motionless crowd behind her, not giving so much as a twitch in his defense as they watch the exchange with a steely-eyed stare. 

“Hey now, come on lads, that’s enough jokin’.” The crew begin to rise up from their seats to stand with her. Bonnet tries to wrest himself free, thrashing and kicking at the men holding him.

“I could handle the abuse. I could handle laying in your bed each night,” she says with a venomous tone. “What I can’t take? Those children in our brig. And you would have us sell them into slavery, as I was sold to you? That’s no life.” Her tone remains even and firm, resonant even, throughout the hull.

“Come on now, I treated you well aye? Aye. I fed ya, I fed all of ya! I kept ya in money. It’s not that bad of a life being a slave I’m sure. You had a good one, eh?” Briggsy scoffs but he continues. “Food, trainin’, a good fuckin’ every once in a while,” he smirks, pleased with himself. She recoils, her pointed ears and cheeks darkening with embarrassment.

“I WAS A CHILD!” she roars, a tear escaping down her cheek from the exertion. “You think that’s what I wanted?!” He recoils, looking somewhat dumbstruck for a moment, as if he expected her to be grateful. She unsheathes her sword from her hip and brandishes it as she would her rapier. Far more flourish and steadiness than she was capable of as this young version of herself. She lifts the tip to nestle on the flat of his chin. 

  
  


“Come on now, what are you gonna do with that eh? You were just a child but you’re a woman now. I mighta made a mistake or two,” he sighs deeply. She laments the times when he was gentle with her, when he treated her as more than a toy. Back when everyone believed he was a good man. He looks behind her to the crew as he struggles, imploring them. “What would you lads do without me?! I’ve been keepin’ this ship good an’ runnin’.”

“No, everybody else has been keeping it running while you sit on your fat ass!” she spits, and the crew begins to grunt and grumble in agreement. “All of these men are the ones who feed each other. All of these men are what keeps this ship running,” she motions widely to the crew behind her, and gives him a clear view of them. “Very little has to do with you. You are the reason we all met, sure, and for that I thank you. But _you_ ,” she pauses and lets out a weighted sigh. She pauses heavily, and looks around to either side of her. She takes in the faces of each of her beloved family, their somber faces, and clenches her jaw before returning her gaze. She hocks as much phlegm as she can muster to spit it at his feet. “You will not be the reason that these men are damned for all eternity.”

“Oh, ho, you’re worried about your immortal souls, aye?” he says with a dark chuckle, his face twisting into an ugly, snarling grin as he glares at her.

“At least where children are concerned,” she says unflinching.

“Oh fuck off, oh the lot o’ ye. It’s not like we’re not already damned!” She flicks the sword in her wrist and slices his cheek open before. His pupils begin to dilate, and his features begin to twist like an animal backed in a corner. “Ooookay, so that’s it? A mutiny from all o’ ye?” he snaps, writhing against his captors.

“Do you not realize the position that you are in? You’re still running your mouth?” she steps up to him, sternly glaring.

“Oh so that’s what it is, you want my position,” he bitterly quips. “You’ll never be nothin’ more than a fuck doll,” he snarls as he pushes his chin further across the blade to get closer to her. 

“It’s not your position that I want,” she states, pulling her sword back as he squirms forward. “I want freedom for all of our men. We are pirates, not slavers. We’re meant to be free, we’re meant to do whatever we want. Not follow orders from someone like you!”

“You want freedom? I. AM. FREEDOM.” he bellows, his laborious heaving betraying his panic. “Eh? That’s what I am, freedom incarnate! I let you do whatever the FUCK you want, and this is what I get? I see how it is. Fine then, do it! I’ll die with a little bit of dignity,” he says as he pushes into her blade again. “Fuckin’ traitors, the lot o’ ye!” The men hang their heads solemnly and Briggsy looks at Bonnet with deep sorrow. She grits her teeth and drops her sword at her side.

“Show him to the deck!” she barks, somewhat shakily. Her hands begin to tremble and he glowers at her as he is dragged out. She lets out a few silent tears behind their backs staring where Bonnet stood. So much was the same, yet so different. She sheathes her sword, rolls her shoulders and follows after the last man, quietly perching herself on the forecastle’s rail to watch. Her men take turns battering and bruising the man they once called Captain. Each one makes their feelings known, each one condemning him to the pits of the deepest hell. 

The last man steps back from Bonnet, leaving him on his back. They were kind enough to leave him one good eye that he can see her with as she slides down the banister to him, striding within a foot of him. She plants her feet and waits as two men lift him to stand before her. He sizes her up slowly and spits at her. She remains firm and unflinching as blood, spit, and shards of broken teeth splatter on her cheek. 

“You’re nothin’ more than a toy,” he struggles to get out. His breath, sour and hot on her face. “Finish me,” he says, trying to act tough. “Finish me, and I’ll damn the lot o’ ye to hell. When I see ye down there-” he stops as Briggsy puts her hand into an open wound, milking him for a small pool of blood. He holds back his cries, but she can hear the whimper-like change in his breath. She locks eyes with him and slowly places the hand on her face, raking the blood across her pale skin. 

“I will see you there,” she assures, a damning promise. His one good eye nearly bulges as he clenches his jaw, growling angrily like a wild animal. His palpable fear draws out her predatory tendencies, ready to claim her prize. The two holding him toss him at her and she catches him in her arms. She pushes him up against the mainmast, one knee between his legs and both hands pinning his shoulders. She continues to lock eyes with him, unblinking. “Would you sink or swim, in the state that you’re in?” she asks rhetorically, her own visage becoming a little more twisted. She licks some of the blood trickling down her lips as she watches him hungrily. He glances over at the edge of the ship, and looks back to her.

“You… You know what would happen... Is that what you want?” he grumbles, goading her, but also somewhat pleading. Hope that she may have mercy. 

“Oh aye, the sharks,” she nearly sings with a sinful cadence. He gulps as she mentions them, unable to look away from her. “I could let them finish you off instead,” she croons and she bares her sharp shark-like teeth. He stares in horror at her haughty grin, her eyes glinting with a murderous glee she didn’t have when she was a teen. 

“Ah I see, let the family do me in. Right honorable of ye’.” Her face falls, indecipherable for a moment, considering what could be honorable in this situation.

“Would you prefer it by my hand, or would you prefer the sea? She’ll take all of us one day, you’ll just be a little sooner on the docket.” Her offer is legitimate, fully prepared to honor the wish of a dead man.

  
  
“Fine then, let her have me as a final embrace,” he says in a gruesome tone. She gives her men a curt nod and holds her hands out, receiving small lengths of rope. She binds his wrists and ankles herself, leaving enough space for him to waddle. Briggsy leads him over and holds him at the edge of the bulwark, her hands firmly planted on him. She looks at him one last time, a mess of emotions overwhelming her. She runs her thumbs gently in one final circle on his shoulders before locking eyes with him, the misery clear on her face. She hoists his limp, beaten body up onto the rail and tosses him off, her eyes unable to break away.

Angry red blooms out, painting the sea as shadows quickly rise to circle him in the waters, forming a small vortex around him. He doesn’t flail or thrash against the bindings, giving in to the cold embrace of the water as it claims him. Briggsy watches as each chunk is taken from him, the endless rows of teeth gnashing and mincing him. Shreds of clothing and various innards are strewn among the spreading pool of blood, the smaller piranha-like creatures drifting up to nip away the leftovers.

Behind her, the tension on the crew has mostly lifted. Some offer others a comforting hand on the shoulder, others a full embrace. Murmurs of assurance and conviction arise as the crew regains its voice. Briggsy looks around through teary eyes, finding Bjarke who had taken her place on the forecastle. She bounds over, throwing herself onto him and wrapping her arms around him, weeping openly. 

His arms circle up around her and she crumbles to her knees, the anguished cries of her soul ripping themselves from her as she howls and wails. Her tears aren’t just for her, no. Her tears are for her crew, for her family. That they would take part in the murder of their captain once again, that they would die once again. That she will never see them again. 

Exhaustion takes hold as most of her tears are spent, and suddenly Bjarke fades from her embrace. She falls forward catching herself on her palms, a few locks of her braid falling loose. After a few distressed, dry heaves, she looks to her left and sees all of her crew gone as well. Her gaze slowly drops back down at her hands, and then forward to dark leather boots hardly an arms length away.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Briggsy rubs her bloodshot eyes with her clean hand, her knees buckling a little as she struggles to rise. She readjusts her armor, locks her knees, and meets Whisper’s eyes, enduring through her fatigue. Whisper watches her curiously, like a child in a zoo. 

“Well, that was very interesting,” he says, cocking his head oddly and smirking. “I’m surprised you didn’t stab him again. Feeding him to the sharks, I like it,” his voice lowers into a purr-like hum, darkly chuckling. She turns to the edge of the ship where she had tossed Bonnet over the side, taking a step back before she responds.

  
“I have a debt to the sea I must repay. Figured feeding someone to it would be a good start,” she says, eyeing him carefully. He grins with approval and brings his fist up, slowly unfurling it before her. 

“I did find this fun little trinket though,” he says, the fine silver chain entangled in his fingers pulling tighter as the familiar blue, cloudy decanter vial drops out, dangling from his hand. “Such a pretty little thing, such an interesting little toy,” he says with the hint of a euphoric lilt, watching it sway in the breeze.

“What do you intend to do with it?” she asks hesitantly, stifling the instinct to back away further from him. The silver rose stopper catches a sliver of sunlight, glinting with each gentle swing, catching her attention. She swears that she just watched it sink with Bonnet. With a flick of his wrist he catches the decanter in his palm, rolling it between his fingers for a moment before holding it out to her.

“For you, a keepsake,” he offers. She stares blankly between it and Whisper at first, uncertain of what she had been expecting. She reaches her trembling hand up to take the necklace and he places the vial in her palm, the chain falling from his fingers around her hand. Her lowered guard allows him to firmly encircle her wrist, gently holding it. He takes a couple steps forward, bringing his lips to her ear.

“Do you know why they call me Whisper?” he asks her. The heat of his breath tickles her ear and neck, causing her to shiver. 

“No, will you tell me?” she turns her face slightly toward him. Her nose brushes his collar and his jaw due to the proximity, but she doesn’t shy away. The scent pervading his skin reminds her of the depths of a damp, rocky cavern, mingled with an intoxicating woody smoke on his leathers, luring her into a prolonged inhale. She strains to see his dour expression as he looks out to the dawning light behind them. 

“It’s because I hear all the whispers in the dark. All the little secrets, the plots, the plans. All the things no one wants to know. They’re in my head, up here,” he says in his hushed tone. He leans back to look at Briggsy, tapping two fingers to his forehead before returning to her ear. “Always chatting away. It could drive a man to madness,” he purrs elatedly, causing Briggsy to gulp hard as she shifts on the balls of her heels nervously. 

“No, no, no. Don’t be afraid," he coos, taking a couple steps back to meet her eyes. "I have become elevated, _we_ have become elevated," he lifts his arms with flourish, a mock veneration in his words. "So many to spread it across, so much knowledge, so many ways to play with the world,” he shares with her. She focuses on the fact that he is referring to himself in multiples. The memory of him also hovering above Folly while he was right in front of her flits by, and her heart drops. It’s not the royal ‘we’, no… He must have command of his many selves. “Come with me, mmm? You are unique, you’re something different,” he urges, tugging lightly on her wrist. 

“Where are we going, if I come with you?” She doesn’t think before she speaks, her surprise outweighing rationality. She had not expected such an offer, such an active intervention from someone who supposedly preferred to watch.

“A different place, a different time,” he says with pause. His expression deepens to a more serious, hopeful one. “You can do so many things, you can change so much depending on where you go. I can see potential for so many new things,” his hands begin to move more as he tries to rouse her interest. “Do you know how boring it is, living through eternity? All the possible futures to see the same thing happen again, and again with very little variety?” His frustration betrays him for a split second before dissolving back into a hopeful sincerity. “But you’re different. Folly is different. I know she won’t come with me, but maybe you will,” he says, the look in his eyes pleading with hers. 

She catches the emotion beginning to slip through his usual facade, and attempts to use it to her advantage. He may be afflicted with a little madness, sure, but so is she. The shark-toothed, savage daughter of the sea, a bloodthirsty marauder. Believing, hoping, praying that she is glimpsing the man behind the mask, she decides to reach for him. She gently places her hand on the one he has wrapped around her wrist, thumbing it gingerly. 

“I understand that it could be lonely…” she pauses with a look of sympathy as her eyes search his. “But I will not live for an eternity like you, and I have to change things in _my_ time. No one has ever gotten Waterdeep out of Avernus, right?” She presses him to respond, hoping he will follow her lead.

“No,” he grumbles, a faint scowl beginning to form.

“If I leave, then wouldn’t I be losing my shot now? Wouldn’t you prefer to see that happen?” she asks as she grinds her thumb across his hand harder.

“You’re not going to make it. No one ever makes it. If you die, then you are gone,” his hushed voice trembles slightly. She lets out a faint sigh, uncertain of how to proceed. She knows she’d be gone if she dies. Truthfully she would welcome death so long as it comes in a blaze of glory. She has lived a long life already, nearly all her loved ones dead and gone. She doesn’t have any dependents, a loyal crew, her ship. She lives day by day; she takes what she wants when she wants it, without regret or remorse. The only thing left is to get Wynn, her companions, and the rest of Waterdeep out of Avernus.

“Tell me, Whisper, why are you so sure I won’t make it this time?” she asks, trying to pry any kind of information or hint from him.

“Because Gossip never lets me have my fun. I can’t trust him,” he growls. “I don’t know what he’s going to do with you, and I can’t-”

“Gossip has given us a great boon,” she cuts him off firmly as his normally low voice begins to ramp up. Hopeful to disprove his concern, she lets go of his hand and reaches to where her bag is usually slung, forgetting she does not have it with her. She lightly shakes her head, cursing herself for her forgetfulness. “He gave us chocolates that heal us immensely. I have not used mine…” her voice trails off as she places her hand back onto his, reassuringly. “He seems to intend to help, so why do you think he would interfere?” His eyes narrow at her and she frowns at him.

“Because he always does. He says he shows up where he is needed, and it always seems to be where I am having the most fun,” he laments. “Don’t think he’s generous. Don’t think he’s just doing this out of altruism. This is a game we’re playing, we’ve played this for eternity. Me, and him. Scales of fate.” Briggsy was already suspicious of Gossip, but she trusts her interactions thus far have been nothing but beneficial.

“Whisper, what do you want from this? Do you want us to escape Avernus?” she asks curiously. If she can find a way to get him on her side, a way to reach him and get him to let her go, she is prepared to jump at it.

  
  
“I want to be entertained,” he muses. “If that means escaping Avernus, then yes. But I know that if you come with me, you can entertain me for a long time. I can GIVE you eternity, just be mine” he says in a near guttural growl. His fervent possessiveness tears through her hopes of getting out of here freely. “There are rules in play, I can’t say more. Always have to follow the game,” he bemoans, almost child-like in his temper. She tries to swallow back the anxiety welling up inside of her, the idea of eternity as entertainment. Was she bound to live the life of a slave? Had she taken for granted the century of freedom the mutiny against her Captain bought her?

“Is this my only chance for this offer, or will you give me time?” she asks as she moves her hand more firmly over his. She tries to act as though she is considering the offer, but her heart is set. She cannot accept this deal. If she can entreat him to give her time, if she can get to her companions, if they can call for assistance, anything. She would do anything to escape being bound in this way yet again.

“It’s now or never.” His words reverberate through her with finality, her heart sinking. She knows she is at a disadvantage; she can’t break free of his grip, fingers completely curled around her smaller wrist, and the sword at her hip may as well be made of foil. He is far more powerful than she is, alone and unarmed. In any other circumstances, she may have been delighted in the challenge, but not this time. Raw from her trauma, the primal desire to be free overwhelms her. 

A warmth blooms on the right side of her hip, where her gun normally sits. She lets her hand fall from his, sighing as she looks to the floor for a moment. Her eyes flicker to her hip where she felt the heat, but doesn’t see anything. She nervously looks up to meet his eyes and slowly wraps her arm around her waist.

“I… I can’t leave Bedowynn behind. I can’t leave Rillion and Shade behind! I practically raised that boy and I’d be leaving him in Avernus of all places!” she cries, not bothering to mask the trembling of her voice.

“I can take care of that,” he says threateningly, his expression darkening. “You saw my last gift. Unfortunately Folly almost didn’t make it out, didn’t quite go as planned, but I can deal with Bedowynn and the others. They don’t have to be a concern. If they’re not there then you have nothing to worry about,” he purrs huskily.

She feels as though time stops, the implications of what he said click in her mind. His gift must have been the necrotic centipede. He means to eliminate them. A blinding, maternal rage begins to stir within her. The compassion she had been coming to feel for Whisper evaporates. She begins to lower her hand from her waist to her hip, praying that she’s not just insane.

She cautiously splays her fingers where the butt of her gun would be to find solid, smooth wood. The tips of her fingers glide across it, brushing the warm metal hammer of the flintlock mechanism and her eyes flit toward her hip. She couldn’t see it but she knows it’s there, and she lets out a deep exhale and a deep chuckle. To Whisper, it may seem like frustration or perhaps resignation. To Briggsy, it’s a sigh of relief for being granted a desperate hope. She puts on her best shit-eating grin, raising her head to meet Whispers eyes again.

“You’ll deal with them? You think that 'necropede' was enough to take us down, ye of little faith?” she teases, keeping his attention from her other hand. She continues to fumble around with the mechanism to reassure herself that she is armed. She has no idea how or why it found its way to her, but she isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“That was just me playing around, I can bring so much more down upon them. Down upon you, if you don’t join me,” he growls. “I am not going to let Gossip have you!” He wrenches her wrist to him, bringing her curled hand up against his chest.

“Whisper if you can’t tell, I prefer my freedom,” her voice quivers as she jerks away instinctively. “I would not let Gossip have me either. I cannot agree to be your entertainment. As much as I would love the opportunity to change some things, these are the choices that I have made. This is my life, and I need my freedom. I’m certain that I would not be as entertaining for you if I had to perform like a monkey.” She tries to brace herself for impact. A thrown fist, a kick, tossing her to the ground, anything. His grip becomes so intense on her wrist that his knuckles turn white, the bones feeling as though they’re being crushed together. She maintains eye contact, too afraid to look anywhere else.

“Fine, you don’t wanna come? Then you don’t get to go!” he shouts, an impassioned, jealous rage seeping through. She has never witnessed him raising his voice, always speaking in hushed tones, and it was more frightening than if he had stricken her. He attempts to yank her towards him and she dodges his other hand as it reaches for her. Thrashing her arm against his grip while staring wide eyed at him, she tries to drop her body weight to wrest herself free to no avail.

“Fine,” he growls, closing his eyes briefly. Briggsy continues to crouch and steadily pulls at her wrist like a tug rope. While she struggles against his grip, hushed voices begin to filter into her consciousness. Her eyes flicker to the left and right, searching for the source, panic setting in as she realizes it’s all in her head. The whispers begin to flood her mind, overwhelming her at a magnitude she’s never felt before. 

She focuses on a single memory instinctively, her song, the healthiest coping mechanism she has. She hums it aloud, bringing her memory of Bjarke to the forefront with all the zeal she can summon. Her focus helps her weather the brunt of the pain, but it still affects her heavily. They stand still for a time while she vehemently tries to block him out. Her endurance infuriates Whisper, causing him to snap.

“I will break you,” he declares venomously, his fingers curling, nails digging into her skin. His features contort with fury as jet black begins flooding his eyes. Two similar runes appear in them, and she freezes. Dread. Cold, bone-chilling dread envelops Briggsy, recognizing the rune’s similarity to the ones in Ivan’s left eye. She cannot recall its meaning, but it can’t be good.

Ivan had a shard of a goddess within him that bestowed a great and terrible power, but he was no threat to her as an ally. Now she stands alone with a man who appears to be capable of the same immensely overwhelming power, threatening everything she holds dear. Sheer terror claws at her from inside, rendering her speechless. 

“You can make it stop, you can join me,” he implores her. “You won’t have freedom, not completely, but you’ll be alive. Your friends may have a chance without you. The small one…” he trails off. “No one has made it yet but that’s always a possibility.”

“Why would they have a chance without me? Wouldn’t they have a better chance with me?!” Her heart clenches in her chest, her breath heaving. She considers giving in to her fear, very much believing that he could in fact break her. The things he has already done to her, what he made her relive, it wouldn’t be hard now. 

The arcane heat of the gun pulses in her hand, arm still tightly bound across herself. Her gift from Ivan… It’s her last hope, her shot in the dark.

“I can’t leave them behind!” she screams fiercely, praying as she firmly grasps the gun and pulls it out of its holster. As it leaves her hip, it begins to materialize in her hand. She pulls her thumb back on the hammer, fully cocking the flintlock mechanism. Whisper covers the barrel of her pistol with his hand quickly before she can pull the trigger, his lip twitching as he snarls at her.

“Where did you get this?!” he barks, his eyes widen incredulously. She fires, and the sparks fly. The deafening sound of a shot peals out, but nothing happens. She watches, awash with panic and fear as the sparks begin to reverse and the mechanism cocks back on its own. Suddenly, a woman’s heavily accented voice drowns out the incessant whispers.

“What is freedom to you?” she asks Briggsy. The voice has an accent she can’t quite place. It’s presence brings lucidity to her, blocking out some of the whispers, and she clings to the reprieve it grants.

“Everything!” Briggsy pleads in desperation.

“Freedom is why I chose to be a pirate, too. Freedom to choose, freedom to live, freedom to die. I cannot let someone who reminds me of myself go to someone who has enslaved.” Her gun begins to vibrate in her hand, the scrollwork coming to life. The thorns of the silver creeping vines grow sharper and longer, the silver skull that lay in the center of a golden rose grows devilish horns. Once the transformation is complete, she hears the voice again.

“Pull the trigger,” she urges. Briggsy looks from her gun deep into Whisper's eyes as she circles her finger around the trigger once more, placing her trust in the voice.

“Stop that!” Whisper yells, tightening his hand around the gun to pull it out of her hand. She pulls the trigger. Ink black ‘sparks’ erupt from the flintlock, spattering coldly onto her hand. Nothing happens for a moment, the ear-splitting bang fading into a dead silence. She stares deep into his eyes, her brave facade cracking as terror begins to take it’s hold on her. Her tough act could only last so long, her spiral into a hysterical delirium beginning. Unexpectedly, a portal appears at their feet, the familiar Kraken’s tentacles she had seen from afar lashing out, binding and flogging him. His grip on her tightens painfully before a tentacle rips his hand off her, allowing her to stumble back. She quickly brings her freed hand to her chest, keeping her gun raised, and watches his face in horror as his features twist into sheer hatred.

“I WILL NOT LET THEM HAVE YOU!” he screams as the tentacles retreat with him into the portal. As it closes, the whispers cease. Her senses begin to fade away, and she is plunging into the darkness yet again. The woman’s voice reaches her as she is fading. 

“Always value freedom. Always follow your heart. That is the pirate way. And maybe someday, we can talk again.” Briggsy tries to thank her, and her consciousness fully fades away.

**Author's Note:**

> Referenced Material & Glossary of Sorts
> 
> ¹Oh Lovely Goddess, by Abbie. Check her out!  
> https://richarddpapen.tumblr.com/post/96854134147/oh-lovely-goddess
> 
> a thaisce - Treasure.  
> Damnaigh sé - Damn it.


End file.
